


It's All Smooth Sailing From Here

by Kansas42



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Eye Contact, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Movie Night, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, References to Suicide, Revenge, Steve Feels, Teambuilding, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kansas42/pseuds/Kansas42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers Movie Night is all Bruce's fault. Tony wants to be absolutely clear on that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fold and Unfold

The Avengers Movie Night is all Bruce’s fault. Tony wants to be absolutely clear on that.

*

The problem is this: it’s been months since the Chitauri invasion, and Bruce can still only maintain eye contact for 2.4 seconds -- which, admittedly, is an improvement over the .000004 seconds he managed before, but is also nowhere near Tony’s (perhaps unrealistic) expectations of 7.721 seconds. Also, Bruce has the tendency to rub and twist and fold his hands together whenever he’s feeling anxious -- which means _all the time_ \-- and if he doesn’t cut it out soon, Tony might be forced to glue his fingers into place or something. (And okay, he might have already tried that once -- but Pepper won’t be around to catch him every time.)

The point is this: Bruce shouldn’t have to enter a room and automatically scan for all the exits. Cause one day, he might decide the only exit he sees is climbing the fence to Mexico or hiding in the smuggled goods side of a cargo plane or 

_\-- a bullet in my mouth_ \--

or something.

So, Bruce needs to loosen up. He needs to learn how to relax, and since he resists all normal methods of relaxation -- like booze and strippers -- Tony figures they can do something tame and depressingly G-rated, like board games, Christ, or . . . or . . . a movie night or something.

Tony tries to picture playing Monopoly with the Hulk and shakes his head. Movie night. Definitely a movie night.

He asks Bruce about it -- okay, he _tells_ Bruce about it, because if Bruce thinks there’s the slightest chance he’ll have fun, he won’t do it, the morose bastard -- and sure enough, Bruce hesitates like watching – oh, who knows, _Star Wars_ \-- could somehow unleash the Hulk, which is ridiculous -- as long as they don’t watch any of the new trilogy -- and, okay, possibly Return of the Jedi should be avoided too. (Well, the Ewoks _are_ pretty infuriating.) But Tony makes it clear that this is something Bruce _will_ be doing, and Bruce seems more amused than offended by Tony’s insistence, so eventually he agrees to go along with it. And everything is just spectacular, really, until Steve Rogers walks up behind them and says, “You’re going out to the movies, Dr. Banner? That’s great. It’ll do you good, getting out more.”

And -- well, okay, that’s fair enough; Bruce almost _never_ leaves the Tower if he can help it, only to get groceries because he insists on eating disgustingly healthy things and can’t seem to make himself just ask one of Tony’s people to go get them. Damn. Maybe Tony _should_ have pushed for Bruce to actually go outside -- oh God, is he actually agreeing with Captain America about something, _shit_ \-- but Bruce is already shaking his head. 

“Oh, I think I’ll stay in,” Bruce says. “People sometimes talk at the movies. It makes me angry.”

Steve actually laughs -- Captain America, a sense of humor? Surely not. “Me too,” he says. “But the things they can do now, the . . . uh . . . special effects?” He hesitates until Bruce nods. “Those are pretty incredible. Especially on a big screen.”

“Right,” Tony says. “You’re from the generation of people who thought the train would come out of the screen and kill them, right?”

Steve ignores him. Bruce doesn’t, not quite -- he flicks his eyes towards Tony, and Tony sees the briefest curl of a mischievous smile before Bruce looks away again.

“Why don’t you join us, Steve?” Bruce asks.

Steve blinks. So does Tony.

“Oh. Well, sure, I . . . I mean, that would be swell, but I don’t want to intrude . . .”

“Actually -- " Tony says loudly before Bruce unceremoniously steps on his foot.

“We’d love to have you,” Bruce says. “Really.”

Steve smiles. “Well, sure, then. That’s great. What time?”

Bruce looks at Tony innocently. That bastard. “Tony? Eight sound good?”

“Great,” Tony says flatly and walks away to go blow something up.

*

He blows something up, and that doesn’t make him feel better, so he blows up a few more things. Like, six more things. Then he goes back to Bruce’s lab. Steve has disappeared, probably to save orphans or kittens or something equally noble.

Tony points at Bruce. “You set me up.”

Bruce doesn’t even look up from the microscope. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tony crosses his arms.

Bruce still doesn’t look at him, but the corners of his lips turn up, a very soft smile that he can’t quite hide, or else isn’t trying to. “Really. I thought you’d want Steve to come. You know, expose him to more modern culture.”

That . . . that is actually not a bad idea. That . . . there are all kinds of things he could horrify Steve with. The porn alone . . .

“We’re not watching porn.”

“I don’t believe I said anything about porn, Dr. Banner. You saucy minx.”

Bruce laughs. “Seriously, we’re not watching porn. I don’t want to watch porn with you. I _really_ don’t want to watch porn with Captain America. That’s . . . I think my life is weird enough.”

“Normality is overrated.”

“It’s really not,” Bruce says quietly.

Damn.

“Horror, then,” Tony says, after a moment. “What’s the last scary movie he saw, Dracula? _Bela Lugosi’s_ Dracula?” He can’t stop himself from grinning. This is great; this is better than great: if he can’t introduce Steve to porn, Tony will just introduce him to --

“No torture porn, either,” Bruce says.

Tony huffs. “It’s like you don’t want me to be happy.”

*

After forty minutes of arguing, they finally settle on George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, which is another way of saying that Bruce wins the argument, but really means that Tony _lets_ Bruce win the argument because Bruce maintained eye contact for almost a record number of seconds _and_ laughed twice in the space of forty minutes, so Tony figures he deserves some kind of reward for that. Like a dog who’s successfully completed all of his tricks, although maybe Tony won’t say it quite like that.

Hey, he has tact. Sometimes. Once in a while, when he feels like it.

Bruce turns back to microscope and slides the bowl of blueberries that he’s been slowly munching on towards Tony. “Good boy,” Bruce murmurs, smiling just at the corners again.

Mischievous _bastard_. Tony’s impressed. Clearly, Pepper’s been coaching him, and he’s not sure if he wants to praise or scold her, but there should obviously be a conversation, and he will make time to have it.

Just as soon as she’s done in Chicago, that is, and he’s done scaring the shit out of Captain America.

*

Movie Night # 1 does not exactly go according to plan -- which is a nice way of saying that he depresses Bruce instead of cheering him up and makes Rogers cry instead of freaking him out.

It _starts_ good, at least. Steve arrives exactly on time because of course he does, and the three of them make exceptionally awkward small talk for exactly seventeen seconds before Tony gives up on _that_ bullshit and just tells JARVIS to start the movie. And he’s having a fun time, actually, even with Steve there; Steve, who jumps a little at his first zombie and then -- instead of hiding behind his hands for the rest of the movie – leans forward and watches eagerly, apparently delighted by the walking dead. 

Tony, bewildered by this unanticipated development, looks to Bruce, who only gives him a bemused smile and quietly mentions that he likes fast zombies better, to which Steve says, “There are fast ones?” and Tony declares, “Blasphemy! Heathen! What kind of scientist are you?” and things of that nature until Steve tells him to shut up or he’ll be forced to knock the stuffing out of Tony. But, you know. He says it _politely_.

Tony decides to be quiet, but it’s not because he’s scared of Captain America. He could take Captain America. He kind of wants to prove it right now, but Bruce is smiling, a little, and he hasn’t been fidgeting with his hands since the movie started at all, so Tony lets it go and sits back to watch the movie.

And then -- something shifts.

Tony’s not sure how it starts or who it starts with. But the mood changes in the room, feels heavier, oppressive, and as he watches the dead try to claw their way into the farmhouse, he thinks, _I died. I died, and I came back too_. 

And then he realizes that everyone in this room has come back from the dead, literally or practically, and then his chest squeezes tighter and tighter until he can’t speak. It’s psychosomatic, and he knows it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe. Which is too bad because he likes breathing, and also because he thinks Bruce and Steve might have just come to the same realization about their temporary excursions into Death as he did, and it would be a good time for a witty quip, if only he could deliver it. 

But he can’t -- he’s only getting in thin wheezes, just enough air to keep from attracting attention -- and so they watch the rest of the movie in silence and, really, it’s kind of a depressing movie when you stop and think about it. And then Steve, whose eyes aren’t quite focused right and, also, look wet -- which has to be a trick of light, right, it just, it just has to be -- Steve politely thanks Tony for inviting him (even though Tony hadn’t) and leaves as quickly as humanely possible.

“Well,” Bruce says. “That went well.”

He doesn’t meet Tony’s eyes, and his hands fold and unfold, fold and unfold, fold and unfold.


	2. Worthwhile Equations

Tony finds Bruce in the kitchen a few days later. He’s making something over the stove, and it smells good, even if it is, almost certainly, _organic_. Of course, Bruce doesn’t need to actually be the one cooking whatever it is because, honestly, what is the point in creating robots if you don’t have them do boring shit like preparing food? But Tony can’t seem to win this argument, so he’s (mostly) given up trying. Instead, he collapses on a stool -- because mornings are awful, really, they should be outlawed -- and asks what’s for breakfast.

Bruce smiles. “It’s two in the afternoon, Tony.”

“Oh, yeah. Huh. Look at that.” 

Well, morning is a relative term anyway -- it’s what happens whenever you wake up. And breakfast is whatever you eat after you wake up because, hey. Break fast. Actual definition of the word.

Turns out, Bruce is making some kind of pasta. It’s pretty good. Tony waits until his mouth is full before saying, “So, next time? I pick the movie.”

Bruce makes a sound -- something between a huff and a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Zombies might have been a bad call. Should have realized.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Tony says immediately. “That’s dumb. Who thinks that -- yeah, zombies might be insensitive, cause everyone in this room kicked the bucket for a second or a minute or 70 years?” 

He shakes his head. His team. What a bunch of screw-ups they are; they’re headcases; they’re loony-toons; they’re _traumatized little orphans_. 

Well, most of them. Thor’s parents, anyway, are both still alive. Course, his little brother did try and conquer the whole world. That has to create issues.

“Steve,” Bruce says, pointing with his fork, “never actually died.”

“And yet, he still came back from the dead.”

“And yet.” Bruce thoughtfully twirls his pasta. “I don’t think that’s what it was for him last night, though. Why he was upset.”

“No?”

Tony waits for elaboration, but Bruce doesn’t provide it. Instead, he says, casually, “Being a zombie might solve the Other Guy problem, maybe. The dead aren’t really angry, right? Just hungry.”

Tony shifts. _Being a zombie_ is way too close to _being dead_ for Tony’s comfort, and he doesn’t like the idea that Bruce might think that way, that being dead is still the best option, if he could only find a way to make it stick for good. “I don’t know, Dr. Banner. I get pretty pissed off when I’m hungry.”

“Still.” Bruce keeps twirling his pasta, lifting it up and putting it back down again, eyes far away. “No heart rate to worry about. No adrenaline surges. Zombie Hulk seems unlikely.”

“And your calculations have never been wrong before.”

Bruce glances at him, startled. Tony doesn’t even feel shitty about saying it -- Bruce is so smart. He’s so damn smart. He needs to start spending his time on more worthwhile equations.

“Being dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Tony says, standing up and pushing his half-eaten plate away. “I don’t think there are strippers in Heaven. God’s boring that way.”

“Tony -- ”

“You know, if you had gotten it right? Blown out the back of your skull? I’d be dead too. I’d still be.”

Bruce closes his mouth.

“Things to think about, Dr. Banner.” He starts to walk away.

“Tony.”

Tony stops, but doesn’t turn around. It’s not like Bruce will be looking at him, anyway.

“I think . . . you know, my schedule’s empty for the next, say, fifty years or so.”

“ . . . okay.”

“We could try another movie night.”

Now Tony does turn around because that is a _terrible_ idea. Bowling with Captain America is a better idea. Sticking a fork in his eye is a better idea. Hitting on _Natasha Romanoff_ is a better idea. “Oh, because it was such a success before.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows at the food he’s still not actually eating. “One failed experiment, and you’re done?”

Tony grins, hard. “Careful,” he says. “You’re bordering pretty heavily on irony right now.”

Bruce smiles as well. It’s too tight and just as unfriendly as Tony’s grin, but his voice remains remarkably mild. “Maybe no zombies this time. Probably no ghosts, either.”

“Are we back to porn, then?”

Bruce shrugs. “There may be movies out there without zombies _or _porn, but it’s your call. Hey, maybe you can talk it over with Steve.”__

__“When the hell would I -- Banner!”_ _

__“Excuse me, sir,” JARVIS interrupts. “Mr. Rogers is on his way up to see you.”_ _

__Tony glares at Bruce._ _

__Bruce waves cheerfully. His smile is still tight, and just shy of openly malicious._ _

__*_ _

__Steve apologizes for leaving so hastily the other night. “I guess . . . I guess you might have noticed I was upset.” He squares his shoulders like he’s going into battle, like he’d rather tackle Red Skull again than have this conversation -- and Tony can commiserate; he feels exactly the same way, and he didn’t even _know_ Red Skull. Then again, Super Nazi with tesseract-powered weapons . . . what else is there to know, right? He wasn’t a guy you’d want to get into it with._ _

__Tony would rather build a time machine out of dead ferrets and wage war against Red Skull than talk to Captain America about Feelings._ _

__“Really, it’s fine,” Tony says, almost desperately. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, we all . . . Bruce picked the movie, you know.”_ _

__Yeah, he just sold his buddy out. Bruce sold him out first, a couple of times, now._ _

__Steve might smile a little at that -- it’s hard to say. “I just wanted to thank you for inviting me in the first place -- ”_ _

__“I didn -- ”_ _

__“-- and apologize if I brought the mood down. You were trying to do something nice for Dr. Banner, right? I don’t want to get in the way of that. He . . . I think he could use a good day.”_ _

___“I got low. I didn’t see a way out, so I put a bullet in my mouth_ \--"_ _

__“He could,” Tony agrees. “He has a lot of bad ones to make up for.”_ _

__Steve nods. “Well,” he says, after a moment of silence. “I’ll just . . .”_ _

__Shit._ _

__Tony can’t let him leave looking like . . . like _that_ . . . like a puppy that was offered a treat and got smacked in the face instead. “Bruce,” he says abruptly, and Steve turns. “Bruce, he’ll get all emotional and shit, if you’re not at the next Movie Night. You know how he is.” Tony makes boo-hooing gestures, even though he has never seen Bruce cry and suspects it happens rarely, if at all. “Physicists,” Tony says. “They’re soft.”_ _

__Steve is definitely smiling now, if reluctantly -- Steve, Tony is sure, is not any happier at being amused by Tony’s jokes than Tony is at worrying about Steve’s abused puppy face. “I’m sure Dr. Banner will be -- ”_ _

__“Nope,” Tony says. “Can’t do it. He’ll take it personal, like you don’t want to see him.”_ _

__“That’s just -- ”_ _

__“You _do_ want him to be happy, right?”_ _

__“Well, of course, but -- ”_ _

__“Then it’s settled. How about next W -- no, I have that thing, what about Thursday?”_ _

__“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts. “The gala -- ”_ _

__“Oh, I can skip that,” Tony assures Steve. Steve is only half paying attention to him -- he’s still not entirely used to JARVIS yet. None of them are, not even Bruce, who’s been living here for months and still startles whenever the AI talks to him._ _

__JARVIS makes a sound that’s very near a sigh. “Sir, Ms. Potts -- ”_ _

__“Ms. Potts owes me for her sneaky snark sessions with Bruce. She’ll deal.”_ _

__“Yes, sir, _that’s_ a likely scenario.”_ _

__“Just . . . hush, you. And not a word of this to Pepper.” Not until Tony decides the best way to sell this, anyway -- if he tells her he can’t go to the gala because he feels sorry for Steve . . . would she even believe him? He barely believes himself._ _

__He should just pretend there’s been some kind of global catastrophe. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that._ _

__Tony folds his arms and looks at Steve. “So? Thursday?”_ _

__Steve, glancing back and forth between Tony and the ceiling, finally shrugs, almost helplessly. “What are we watching?” he asks._ _

__*_ _

__They’re watching Battlefield Earth because Pepper is a terrible person who deserves to be mauled by feral cats._ _

__In retrospect, Tony probably shouldn’t have pissed her off about the gala thing. Or at least lied to her about it, but he had decided -- at the last minute -- to go with honesty, not because it was always the best policy, which, ha, but because he really thought he could sell her with his poetic description of Steve’s puppy face of doom. Pepper likes puppies. Pepper likes animals in general. It’s disgusting._ _

__At any rate, Tony should never have trusted that sweet smile on her face when she suggested that Battlefield Earth would make for a fun evening. He wouldn’t have asked for the suggestion in the first place, but he kept stumbling over movies that could have potential triggers for one or any of them. He did _not_ want a repeat of Movie Night # 1, which was seeming more and more inevitable when he realized that even films that everyone and their dog agreed on were basically giant landmines. How do you watch Raiders of the Lost Ark when the guy eating popcorn next to you had fought actual _Nazis_?_ _

__Now, Tony realizes that almost anything would have been preferable to this._ _

__He calls Pepper again, who went to the gala in his place. Not surprisingly, she’s ignoring his calls, so he’s forced to leave longer and crankier messages, questioning her parentage, sanity, and general malevolence._ _

__“I hope you’re having fun dancing, Ms. Potts,” Tony says. “Because there might not be a tower to come back to when you’re done.” Tony’s been eyeing Bruce carefully for the past five minutes, ever since he covered his face with minutely trembling hands. So far, he hasn’t emerged from behind them. “I’m pretty sure your little joke just broke Bruce. I hope you’re happy.”_ _

__He ends the call and looks back at Bruce. “Hey, Jolly Green? Buddy?”_ _

__Bruce shakes his head and doesn’t respond._ _

__Tony calls Pepper back. “If you’re the reason the Hulk comes out to play, _you_ get to explain it to Fury. And America. And God. God is very disappointed in you, Ms. Potts.”_ _

__“I don’t think that’s true,” Steve says, as Tony hangs up. “Anyway, we could just turn off the movie.”_ _

__It’s a completely reasonable suggestion. Tony’s considered it at least seven hundred times. Bruce brought it up in the first couple of minutes. But Steve has been laughing at Tony’s continuous phone calls to Pepper and seems amused by how easily she played him. Bruce is less amused than actively horrified by the film, but Tony doesn’t _actually_ think he’ll hulk out anytime soon, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be the worst thing for him. (Tony has tried, occasionally, to get Bruce to release his greener half, but Bruce has been ridiculously stubborn about the subject and tends to start twisting his hands around like crazy whenever it’s brought up, which, not exactly the goal. Kind of the antithesis of the goal, actually, so. No Hulk play time. Fine.)_ _

__Anyway, Bruce and Tony are taking turns ranting about all the stupid shit that’s happening, and Nerd Rage is its own, special kind of fun. There are worse ways to spend a Thursday night. (Although maybe not many.)_ _

__So, they continue watching the movie, where these cavemen guys are flying thousand year old fighter jets with no training at all. “I know things have changed,” Steve says, pointing at the television screen in polite disbelief. “But . . . that’s still not possible, right?”_ _

__Steve is accurately complaining about the science. That’s how bad this movie is._ _

__By the time the film is over, Steve is muttering something under his breath that very well could be a prayer, and Bruce is gently thumping his head back into the recliner. Tony picks up his phone to call Pepper again --_ _

__\-- only to have Bruce snatch it out of his hand_ _

__“Hey -- ”_ _

__“Pepper,” Bruce says calmly, ignoring him. “I perfectly understand why you did this to Tony -- ”_ _

__“ _HEY_!”_ _

__“ -- but I don’t have any idea why you felt _I_ deserved this. Please let me know whatever I’ve done to upset you, because I’ve decided I really don’t like you when you’re angry.” _ _

__He considers this for a moment and then adds, mildly, “I made some curry, if you’re hungry later. I think I’ll be too busy wishing the government was still chasing me through third world countries to bother finishing it.”_ _

__He hangs up the phone and gives it back to Tony. On the other side of the couch, Steve is laughing uncontrollably._ _

__*_ _

__Movie Night # 2 goes better than Movie Night # 1. Because, frankly, it kind of had to._ _

__But Steve and Bruce both decide -- completely unfairly -- that Tony isn’t allowed to pick the movie anymore._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you Natasha and Clint fans out there, they actually WILL appear in this story in the next chapter, promise. I should be honest about Thor, though -- his participation in this fic is minimal at best. The writer said that she was very sorry.


	3. Pirates and Stars

“I haven’t forgiven you, Miss Potts. Just so you know.”

Pepper doesn’t seem to mind, or maybe she just doesn’t believe him. She’s spooned comfortably against him, and they’re both naked or next to, so maybe she’s getting mixed messages. If that’s the case, Tony should probably sit up. He weighs the idea of pulling away from nearly-naked Pepper to wag his finger at her some more versus _not_ doing that and kissing the inside of her neck where she’s just a little bit ticklish. He’s a genius, so it doesn’t take him very long to decide.

When she laughs because she can’t help it -- when it’s unguarded and just a little too loud -- well, that’s probably Tony’s favorite sound, oh, ever.

Pepper getting out of bed to get dressed, though . . . certainly not his favorite sight. (Well, okay, watching her getting up isn’t so bad in and of itself because, you know, the whole backside region there, on display . . . Pepper has a very tolerable backside. It’s not too torturous, looking at it. But then . . . clothes, and clothes are bad; clothes cover up all of Pepper’s _many_ tolerable regions, and that’s just . . . it’s sad, is what it is. Sad, and a disservice to humanity.)

“I thought we were having a moment,” Tony complains. “Why are you always interrupting our moments?”

Even before Tony’s through saying it, though, he’s thinking of Phil Coulson, the last guy to interrupt such a moment -- and if it’s one thing that will _really_ ruin a moment, it’s a dead guy. A dead friend. 

Not that they were really friends.

“I miss him too,” Pepper says, now mostly dressed and resting on the edge of the bed. She touches his leg gently.

Tony sits up abruptly and grabs one of the half dozen tablets by his bedside, absently fiddling with it. “Miss who?” he asks, without looking up. Then, before she has time to answer: “So, I think it’s still a little weird with Bruce, you know, since I implied I’d rather he _not_ think about killing himself all the time. Is that a social faux pas? I just can’t keep up with what the kids are doing these days.”

Pepper doesn’t say anything. Once he meets her eyes, though, she lets it go.

“It’ll be fine,” Pepper says, instead of saying, _It’s okay to miss Phil, Tony_. He really kind of loves her for that. “You’ll work it out. You and Bruce, it’s like you two were separated at birth. Other women might be jealous.”

“But you are far superior to other women.”

“True,” Pepper agrees. “And Bruce has impeccable self-control.”

“And me?” Tony demands. “What about my self-control?”

Pepper just looks at him.

“Fine,” Tony says. “I deserve that, but don’t think I’m letting your actions the other night go unpunished. You are a menace to society. A beautiful, vicious menace.”

“I know,” Pepper says, smiling. She kisses him on the cheek and stands. “You mentioned that before. Message six, I think, or was it seven?”

“Eight,” Tony corrects. “It was the eighth message out of twenty-eight, and you didn’t pick up a single one of them. I could have been in grave peril, you know. I could have been dy -- ”. 

He sees her smile falter and thinks, _Oh_.

“That was stupid,” Tony says immediately. “That was -- anyway, you got your revenge, is what I’m saying. Well played, Miss Potts, but now it’s my turn. You just wait. I’ll think of . . . something. Something very devious, fiendish even. It could even involve lasers.”

Pepper doesn’t smile. She’s standing very still, and her shoulders are very straight. “I kept checking it,” she said, swallowing almost imperceptibly. “All night. I told people I was waiting for an important deal to go through. I excused myself from a dance with a four star general because I heard my phone, and I had to make sure. Even though I knew you were just -- but I _had_ to be -- ”

He pushes the blankets off of him and stands up. “Pepper.”

“I don’t want to miss that call, Tony. Not again.”

“Hey.” He grabs her hands and holds them, close to his chest, to the arc reactor. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean -- ”

“I know,” Pepper says, smiling again or trying to. “I know.”

Tony kisses her on the forehead. He knows better than to promise anything, he knows, but he does it anyway. “I’m fine,” he tells her. “And I’ll keep being fine . . . _if_ you stop trying to goad the Hulk into a nervous breakdown, that is.”

Pepper laughs and breaks away from him, walking over to the vanity to do her makeup. She’s angled so he can’t see her face through the mirror, and he wonders if she’s sitting like that on purpose. But if she’s crying, he can’t hear it in her voice. “I feel a little bad,” she admits. “Bruce and Steve didn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t deserve that!” Tony protests. “No one deserves that.”

Pepper shrugs and makes some vague, non-committal sound that fully displays her total lack of remorse. As she carefully applies eye shadow, she asks, “How are they doing? The Avengers, I mean, not just Bruce and Steve.”

“Oh, great,” Tony says, profoundly unenthused. “I’m having so much fun following Captain America’s lead all the time.”

Pepper turns to face him. She’s only finished shadowing one of her eyes, so she should look ridiculous. But she’s Pepper, so, yeah. “Tony.”

He looks at her innocently. “What? We’re fine, Pepper. I’m telling you: it’s double rainbow, all the way. All smooth sailing from here.” 

*

It occurs to Tony -- sometime _after_ the giant purple alien comes down to Central Park and turns everyone there into a mindless slave, but _before_ he, himself, is thrown by the giant purple alien into, and partially through, a building -- that he might have been overstating it when he said the words “smooth sailing.” 

Although, in a sense, the “flight” part of being thrown across a city? Well, that did go rather smoothly, just backwards, and the landing hurt. A lot.

(“You’re an idiot, Stark,” Natasha had told him, when he offhandedly mentioned what he’d said to Pepper. “Don’t you know – ”

But he didn’t get to find that out, what he didn’t know, because that’s when the giant purple alien flung them both in different directions.)

Crashing backwards through steel and concrete isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds, and he knows -- he’s had a lot of experience with it, since putting on the suit. (Well. Let’s be fair. He’s had some experience with it since his first drink. When had that been, nine? Ten?) But it’s definitely less fun today because the armor has already taken a considerable beating -- the chest plate in particular, may be caved in, may be crushed, and it’s so very, very hard to breathe.

But Natasha hadn’t been wearing any armor at all.

So Tony struggles to sit up, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter that stars all he can see. Stars haunt him; he dreams of them and wakes up cold. None of it matters.

He gets up. He’s an Avenger. It’s what they do.

#

Natasha’s okay -- her assessment, which mean exactly zilch, of course, but just for once Tony agrees with her because, sometimes, anything that’s not dead is really okay. Not dead is all you need. Not dead can be worked with.

She still needs medical attention, though, and the fact that she keeps trying to pass out as she argues with them is really the only proof everyone needs to ignore what she says and haul her ass back to Medical.

Not that she’s the only one who’s injured. Steve’s still clearly feeling what Tony assumes are broken ribs, maybe a lot of them, and Tony has a few himself that were wrapped because his won’t heal anywhere near as fast. (He’s also still a little short of breath although that, unfortunately, is almost certainly psychosomatic. It doesn’t matter.)

Bruce isn’t hurt, but he looks more exhausted and rumpled than usual, hunched over in someone else’s wrinkled clothes and not making eye contact with anyone. He’s the one who saved Natasha’s life, by catching her before she hit the ground. The Hulk’s pretty good at that. He’s considerably less good at knowing his own strength, unfortunately.

Barton’s also isn’t making eye contact, at least not without anyone in the room – it’s a thousand yard stare, all right, but a thousand yards doesn’t really cover it. It’s not long enough, not nearly long enough.

Tony still doesn’t know Barton all that well, so he isn’t sure if the empty eyes, no one’s at home shutdown is happening because Barton’s worried about Natasha, or because all the brainwashed people in Central Park hit a nerve. Maybe both. The brainwashed people are fine now, at least physically. Barton shot an exploding arrow through the giant purple alien’s “magical” necklace that was supposedly controlling them. Of course, that same exploding arrow had also gone through the giant purple alien’s neck too and, for all Tony knows, that’s what really did the trick. Whatever, they’re free now. The bad guys are dead, and the good guys are alive.

Everything else can be worked with.

But if Tony’s the one to say it, he’s pretty sure they’ll hear it wrong. It will sound nonchalant, coming from him. Callous. Steve’s watching the others -- Barton’s face, Bruce’s hunched shoulders -- and he looks over to meet Tony’s eyes. Steve wants to say something too, that’s obvious, and Tony’s pretty sure they’ve got a similar sentiment in mind, so Tony nods, just slightly. Let them be all inspired by Captain America’s flowery speech of go team.

“So, Agent Barton,” Steve says. “When Agent Romanoff is all patched up, you two should come over to the Tower. Tony’s hosting a movie night.”

Correction: Tony and Steve were not thinking the same thing _at all_.

Tony wants to stand up, fractured ribs be damned, and drag Steve into the other room for a quick, Let’s Try to Kill Captain America session. But he doesn’t because, well, _ribs_ , and also because the pure randomness of Steve’s offer appears to be pulling Barton out of his catatonia, or anyway, he blinks.

“Sorry?”

“A movie night,” Steve repeats, unfazed by Barton’s (and Tony’s) incredulity. “Want to come?”

“ _Why_?”

“It’ll be fun,” Steve says, in direct opposition to everything they’ve learned from the past two movie nights. “And it’s a good idea for soldiers to spend time together, somewhere relaxed, away from the front lines.”

_We’re not soldiers,_ Tony thinks, but he doesn’t yell it, not this time.

Steve looks at him anyway and smiles almost apologetically before continuing. “When we . . . when I was with the Howling Commandos, I mean, we used to go to these little taverns, anywhere, really, where we could just sit down with some food and a cheap drink.”

“So why not a bar?” Barton asks. Barton, Tony thinks, would almost certainly prefer a bar. He’s probably a natural in a bar, standing in some shadowy corner, drinking some shitty beer and making bullseyes whenever people are looking the other way. Tony tries to imagine Barton sitting on a couch, Barton in pajama pants, Barton as _Clint_ , and just can’t. 

“Dr. Banner doesn’t drink,” Steve says. It makes Bruce glance up, startled into paying attention for the first time. Tony tries to make eye contact, to get an ally against this maddening plan to invite two assassins to Movie Night, but Bruce quickly looks away again. Bastard.

“And Tony would just bankrupt himself trying to get me drunk,” Steve adds calmly. Tony sputters, but only for effect, because it’s basically true. Not the going bankrupt part obviously, because, ha. But trying to get Steve drunk? Tony would dedicate _weeks_ to doing nothing but that. In fact, maybe he should clear his schedule for next month . . .

“Besides,” Steve says. “I haven’t seen very many movies yet. I have a lot to catch up on. What do you say?”

Barton says, “Huh.” He thinks about it for a while. “What are you watching?”

“I don’t know yet,” Steve says, shrugging. “We’ve been taking turns deciding. It can be your pick.”

“Huh,” Barton says again. He might be about to say something else, but then the doctor comes out and says that Natasha’s been stabilized, and that she can leave now, please; please, take her away now, please.

The doctor’s clear terror obviously puts Barton in a better mood. He grins as he carelessly pushes past the trembling man. The rest follow at a more sedate pace, Steve apologizing for everyone else’s general lack of manners.

Natasha’s already dressed when they reach her, bandaged up and scowling from the med table. Steve offers her a hand, to help her down. She glares at him until he ducks his head and backs away. “Sorry, ma’am,” he mutters, a little adorably. Seriously, Captain America is so fucking precious. Tony kind of wants to pinch his cheeks, and is both amused and disgusted by this reaction, all at the same time.

Tony doesn’t even try to help Natasha, obviously. He knows better than that. Bruce doesn’t try, either. Of course, Bruce is standing as far away from her as he possibly can without actually being on the other side of the room.

Natasha lets Barton support her as she walks, though, both giving each other shit the entire time. Tony wonders if that means they’re sleeping together, and if Pepper would say that’s a sexist assumption. Probably. 

“So,” Barton says to Natasha. “Cap invited us to this thing.”

“There’s a thing?”

“Some Avengers Movie Night thing. Tony made it up.”

“I _didn’t_ \-- ”

“Really.” Natasha stares at Tony with flat eyes, like a snake. Like a very pissed off, potentially hungry snake. Although that’s pretty much how she always looks at him.

It’s possibly she’s still mad about the whole “smooth sailing” debacle. Really, Tony didn’t think secret spy assassins were the type to be superstitious. Regardless, he decides not to bring it up.

At least Natasha won’t want to participate in anything as silly as a movie night. She’ll have other plans, like killing something, or washing her hair. And Barton almost certainly won’t go if Natasha doesn’t go, and maybe Steve will be so upset that his little plan failed that he’ll stop coming too, and it will just be Tony and Bruce on a couch, the way it’s supposed to be. Pepper, too, when she’s in town. 

Because anyone else . . . that’s weird. That’s suggesting they’re more than a team to each other, that they’re . . . they’re . . .

(family)

. . . something else, something Tony isn’t sure he’s comfortable with yet.

But Natasha has boundaries and secrets and secret boundaries, and she won’t -- 

“Okay,” Natasha says.

Tony hangs his head. At this point, he thinks, he should just get used to being wrong.

#

It’s hard, though, because Tony’s right so very, very often. Even if Barton’s movie choice surprises the hell out of him.

“The Princess Bride?” Not that Tony minds The Princess Bride. He doesn’t really know anyone who _minds_ The Princess Bride. He’d just figured Barton for being a more bullets and explosions kind of guy. But hey, there are pirates. And who doesn’t like pirates? 

Natasha glares at Barton. “Clint.”

Barton tries to blink at her innocently, but he’s spectacularly bad at it. He must realize this because he gives up and cackles almost immediately. He actually cackles.

Tony isn’t at all sure what’s happening right now.

“You know I hate this movie,” Natasha says, and -- _what_? Who _hates_ The Princess Bride? That’s such a crazy statement that Bruce actually lifts his head from his Mournful Brooding to stare at her incredulously. In fact, Bruce actually looks like he wants to tell her to get the hell out, and with anyone but Natasha right now, he might even do it.

“Leave this Tower,” Tony intones because he’s a good friend. “Get thee gone, wench.”

Natasha just gives him snake eyes again. From the other room, Pepper yells, “Tony! What did we talk about?”

“Not calling people wenches?”

“Among other things.” Pepper walks into the living room with Steve. They’re both carrying ridiculous sized bowls of popcorn. Tony expects them to be devoured in under five minutes. “Now say you’re sorry.”

“But Natasha doesn’t like The Princess Bride!”

Even Pepper looks nonplussed at that.

Natasha makes a sound that’s suspiciously close to a huff. “It’s Buttercup,” she says, with the kind of disdain that you might expect a person to have for his worst enemy, or a cat to have for . . . well, anything, really. “She is intolerably stupid.”

“She’s supposed to be stupid,” Tony says.

Natasha raises an arched eyebrow. “Because she’s a woman?”

“Oh, for -- ”

“Okay,” Pepper says. “How about we just play the movie and save the discussion on feminism for later? JARVIS?”

“Certainly, Miss Potts,” JARVIS says, and the lights in the room grow dim.

#

Movie Night # 3 is pretty much a success, despite Natasha’s terrible and now entirely irrelevant opinions on cinema.

Steve gets into the action quickly and laughs quite a bit. He doesn’t seem to mind Buttercup too much, although he does note that he once knew a dame who would probably hate her as much as Natasha does. (He gets a little wistful, then, but shakes it off, and it becomes very apparent shortly afterwards that Steve likes pirates and knows everything there is to know about them. He and Barton even get into a whole pirate trivia thing. It’s very weird.)

Natasha restrains herself from complaining throughout the film too much, other than to occasionally throw a death threat or two in Barton’s direction. He doesn’t seem to mind. Actually, the more vicious the death threat, the happier he seems, so if they _are_ sleeping together, their relationship surely veers into the seriously kinky.

Which, hey. Tony is down with kink. He’s fairly averse to pain himself, but it takes all kinds.

Bruce clearly doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself, but Tony notices early on that he’s mouthing along with half the lines in the movie. So Tony starts reciting lines too, but out loud and in as dramatic a fashion as possible. Pepper catches on to what he’s doing and starts reciting them as well – if at a slightly less impressive volume -- and it doesn’t take too long after that for Bruce to join in. He even smiles, especially after Natasha starts throwing popcorn his way and reminding him to eat up, Doc -- as if she doesn’t mind that the Hulk hugs a little hard because, really, only Bruce can beat himself up for saving somebody’s life.

After the movie is over, Bruce catches Tony’s eye. He mouths, “Thank you.”

Tony doesn’t dream of stars that night.


	4. This Terrible Privilege

“What are you doing with that? No, no -- why would I want that? What possible reason could I have -- oh, just give it here. Come on. Stop pouting; give it. Okay, there you go, yes, that was very helpful. Yes, couldn’t have lived without that. Now, go away. Or . . . or just stay there. Fine, stay there, but don’t think you’re getting any treats for this, you . . . oh. Steve. Hi.”

Steve’s standing in the doorway of Tony’s lab, leaning into it, actually. His arms are loosely folded against his chest, and he’s watching Tony with an amused smile on his face, which is . . . well, it’s mildly unnerving, actually. Who knows what freakishly wholesome things Rogers could be thinking? What’s he even doing here, anyway?

Tony lifts his goggles and pushes Dummy -- who squawks -- aside. “You,” Tony says, pointing at Steve. “Are not supposed to be here until six.”

“It’s almost seven,” Steve says.

Tony blinks and looks at the clock. Well, fine. “Then why are you only getting here now?”

“I’ve been here an hour, Tony,” Steve says patiently. “Helping Dr. Banner with dinner.” He smiles ruefully. “Or attempting to. I was never a very good cook. I mostly just made the salad.”

Tony shakes his head. “I keep trying to tell you people. I have robots for things like that.” Dummy scoots back over to him. “Not you,” Tony says. “You would be terrible at making a salad. You’d probably spray it with a fire extinguisher and call it ranch dressing. I don’t even know why I keep you.”

He looks back up to see Steve smiling at him again. “Stop that,” Tony tells him.

“Stop . . . what?”

“That. Whatever that expression on your face is. Stop it. I don’t trust it at all. Are you going to tell me what movie we’re watching tonight, or are you still insisting it’s a surprise? It’s something ridiculously old, isn’t it? It probably doesn’t even have sound.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Tony kind of loves he can make Captain America do that. “I’m pretty sure it has sound,” Steve says. “Are you almost done? Dr. Banner told me to drag you upstairs if you were still down here at . . . well, now, actually.”

Tony grins viciously. “Did he now?”

Steve sighs. He’s about to launch into some kind of argument or lecture or something equally tedious when JARVIS interrupts. “Sirs, Agents Romanoff and Barton have arrived.”

Tony scowls. “Great. The whole band is here, almost.” Thor isn’t, not yet, but he should be back on Earth any day now -- supposedly, he wants to try and spend as much time on “Midgard” as possible, presumably because he’s going to be some kind of Asgardian ambassador, but really because he wants to spend time with his favorite scientist, Jane Foster, and anyone who’s ever had the misfortune of talking to Thor about her knows it. (Bruce, who’s apparently admired Dr. Foster’s work for years, had once made the mistake of asking Thor how the two had met. Thor hadn’t stopped talking about it for _hours_. He started reciting epic poetry solely about her _hair_.)

Thank GOD Thor doesn’t know about these movie nights yet. Tony can only imagine --

There’s a loud crash of thunder from outside -- despite the fact that it’s been clear skies all day -- and the whole tower seems to shake for a moment. “Thor Odinson has also arrived,” JARVIS adds dryly. 

Of course he has.

“I invited him,” Steve says.

Of course he did. “Just out of curiosity,” Tony says, throwing his goggles to the side. “Are you ever going to _ask_ me before you invite random strangers over to my tower? I’m not going to come back tomorrow and find Nick Fury with a bowl of popcorn, waving around a copy of True Grit, right?”

“I did ask,” Steve says, instead of asking what True Grit is. “Outside of medical. You nodded!”

Which, okay, Tony can totally argue that, because _that_ had been a clusterfuck of a communication breakdown -- but then Steve frowns. “And Thor’s not a random stranger. He’s an Avenger.”

. . . and, okay, that’s harder to argue. Once you save the world with someone, Tony figures, they’re --

(family)

\-- something else.

 _Crap_. Tony doesn’t _want_ something else.

“Right,” Tony says sarcastically, because conceding the point is for quitters. “And you want us to do trust falls, right? Team bonding sessions? A few drinks with the fellas, and we’ll be just like your old buddies from the war?”

“My old buddies from the war are all dead,” Steve says, quietly but very firmly. “So, no, Stark. That’s not what I want at all.”

Shit.

Steve stares down at the ground, and Tony washes the grease from his hands in the sink, wondering if men from the 1940’s find apologizing as deeply awkward as men in 2012, and if they can just skip all that and go eat Bruce’s food instead. “Look,” Tony says, because he’s pretty sure that’s not the case.

But Steve interrupts him. “No, Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean . . . that’s not fair, laying all that at your feet. I _do_ think we could be better on the field. The closer we are as a team, the more cohesive . . . but I’m not trying to recreate the Howling Commandos. This isn’t that war. You aren’t those men. It’s just . . . remember when I came over, after that first movie night?”

“ _I guess . . . I guess you might have noticed I was upset_.”

“How could I forget?” Tony asks. “You were trying to apologize for not having a good time. You’re really the only guy who does that, you know.”

Steve smiles. “I was having a good time,” he says. “At first, anyway. I used to love horror movies. Bucky and me, we’d . . . ”. His eyes are a little unfocused, and it takes him a minute to come back to the conversation. “Well, anyway. I felt bad because you were doing something nice for Dr. Banner, because he needed a good day. And you said he’d -- ”

“He’d had some bad days to make up for.” 

Tony isn’t sure how much Steve knows, about Bruce’s bad days, especially the ones before the Hulk. Bruce doesn’t make a habit of talking about them, not to anyone, but Steve’s naïve, not dumb. He has to know that anger comes from somewhere.

“Well,” Steve says, “I thought about what you said, and it seemed like . . . well, we’ve all had some pretty bad days, haven’t we? Maybe more than our fair share. That day in Central Park, with Natasha hurt, and the way Agent Barton looked . . . I saw some guys, who looked like that in the war. I just thought . . . maybe we could all use a good day, now and again. That’s all I was trying to do.”

And . . . “Yeah,” Tony says, because he gets that. Screw-ups, headcases, and traumatized little orphans. They’ve definitely all had their bad days, Steve included. Tony thinks about him, waking up in a world where everyone he’s ever known is already one foot in the grave or already dead and buried. 

Steve came back. Bruce came back. Tony came back. 

Bucky didn’t.

The Howling Commandos didn’t. 

Phil didn’t.

Everyone loses people, everyone. That’s what living is. And some people lose a _lot_. Not everyone gets up, after taking a hit like that. But Steve, but Bruce, but all of them . . . they saved the world together. They aren’t just anybody. They . . . they _are_ something else. They’re Avengers. 

Avengers get up. 

And for that . . . just for that, Steve’s right: the Avengers deserve a fucking good day.

“Mr. Stark?” Steve asks. “Did I overstep my bounds?”

Tony doesn’t bother to answer. 

“What movie did you get?” he asks instead.

*

Instead of using Netflix like a civilized person, Steve somehow managed to find an honest to god video store and -- since he didn’t recognize any of the titles anyway -- picked a movie based purely on the recommendation of the clerk, who -- Tony's decided -- is probably a film student with greasy hair and a face that needs to be punched, repeatedly.

“2001’s a classic,” Bruce protests, but Tony isn’t listening to him because, clearly, they can no longer be friends.

“It’s boring as shit,” Barton says. “Only shit is more interesting, and it makes more sense.”

Steve looks a little crestfallen, so Thor nudges his shoulder -- or pounds him on the back, which is basically the same thing in Asgardian. “True art is often a challenge,” he says, well, booms. “Warriors such as you and I may have difficulty comprehending such vision, but is it not best for us to look upon such work with open hearts and minds and try to find the philosophy that lies within it?”

“No,” Barton says. “Because it sucks.”

Barton, Tony’s decided, is his new best friend.

Steve looks down at his copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey and then over at Natasha. “What do you think?” he asks, a little desperately. He’s probably afraid of her. That’s reasonable. Tony would have been afraid of her, too, if she’d come over on Battlefield Earth night.

“It’s very long,” Natasha says noncommittally. She eats the last of her salad and then opens up a ridiculously large bag at her feet, pulling out a very small gun. Tony can’t even imagine how many other weapons she probably has stored in there. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. She looks at the bag thoughtfully as she begins to clean the tiny gun. “I should probably have brought my suitcase too,” she says to herself.

Steve buries his face in his hands.

*

Against all odds, Thor ends up liking the movie. He confesses that he’s not sure he fully understands it, but he comes up with all kinds of theories -- almost all of which are far more entertaining than the actual film itself -- and he discusses them eagerly with Bruce, who’s apparently some kind of Kubrick aficionado. Tony is disgusted with the both of them.

Steve’s clearly a little disgusted himself. For most of the film, he’s only bored -- Tony’s pretty sure he caught him nodding off at least once -- but he perks up during the HAL segment because even Tony can admit that segment’s pretty awesome. (He pauses the film and reminds JARVIS that JARVIS is never allowed to kill him, no matter how important it may seem at the time. JARVIS, sighing, says he’ll try to restrain himself. JARVIS is the best.)

Steve’s good humor, however, vanishes completely by the time they get to the utterly incomprehensible end, and he comes pretty close to saying a few words that Captain America really isn’t supposed to say. Barton pretends to be scandalized, but he’s not any better at that than he is at looking innocent. 

“I told you,” Barton says. “Didn’t I tell him, Tash?”

“You did,” Natasha agrees as she finishes cleaning her last gun for the second time. She doesn’t seem to be for or against the film, since she didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to it . . . although Tony did catch her smiling once or twice, at Barton’s exaggerated protests or at one of Thor’s ludicrous theories. She’s even smiling a little when she leaves, pushing a still-muttering Barton ahead of her.

Thor and Steve leave shortly afterwards. Tony waves them goodbye, yelling that Steve’s movie-choice privileges have been revoked and that Natasha had better choose something infinitely more awesome than the crap they watched tonight, or the Avengers Movie Night is officially off forever, and -- stop laughing, Barton! This isn’t his fault! Tony didn’t come up with Avengers Movie Night! Why doesn’t anyone believe him?

Once they’re out of earshot, once no one can see, Tony shuts the door, walks to his study, and pours himself a good three fingers of scotch. 

He’s fine. He’s totally fine. He just needs to breathe, that’s all. His throat is dry, and he just needs to _breathe_ . . .

Tony’s on his third glass when Bruce, rather suddenly, comes up from behind, takes the bottle, and actually pours himself a drink. 

Tony stares at him. Steve wasn’t wrong before -- Bruce doesn’t drink, not ever. Even if he didn’t have a rage monster trapped inside, Tony’s not sure Bruce would ever willingly touch the stuff. And yet here he is, tossing the scotch back like it’s water. Easy-peasy.

“Okay,” Tony says. “What is this?”

Bruce studies the bottle, doesn’t meet his eyes. “You’re not going to talk to someone,” he says slowly. “Because you’re stupid about the things that matter. But you . . . I can try and talk you through it, sometimes.” He smiles wryly. “I know a little something about panic.”

Tony’s throat tightens even more. His fingers squeeze the glass because, dammit, Bruce isn’t supposed to know. No one’s supposed to know. “Funny,” he says, grinning hard at the other man. “I thought the good doctor wanted to die.”

“Tony -- ”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know what _you’d_ know about panic. Seems like near-death experiences would be more like a pleasant daydream for you.”

Bruce braces his palms against the counter top. His fingers are splayed outward, strained. His knuckles are bone white. “What do you want me to say, Tony?” he asks finally. “That I’ll never try it again?”

Tony leans down to catch his eye. “ _Yes_ ,” he says. “That’s exactly what I want you to say.”

Bruce meets his eyes for 2.2 seconds before shifting away. 

He picks up the bottle of scotch again, sliding it from hand to hand. Tony can see Bruce thinking about it, pouring himself another drink, but the liquid never makes it into the glass. 

“I can’t tell you that,” Bruce says finally. “I can’t promise that I won't ever try. It’s not feasible, not right now, but if it was, if I could do it without . . . if I could do it _safely_ . . . sometimes, I think it’d be easier; that’s all.”

Tony laughs. “That’s all.”

“Tony -- ”

Tony snatches the bottle out of Bruce’s hand. “No. Shut up. You don’t get to talk anymore. No more talking for you.” He pours himself another drink, quickly. It slops some out of the glass. “You don’t seem to get this, so let me try and make it clear: death is bad. Death is not our friend. You are my friend. I don’t want you to die. Can you follow that?”

“Tony -- ”

“ _Can you follow that_?”

Bruce closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” Tony says. “We get up. We keep going. It’s never going to be easy.”

Bruce shakes his head. “What do you want me to _say_?”

 _That you won’t get low_ , Tony thinks, even though that’s not something he can ask. _That you won’t die. That you’ll stay._ Tony had promised that to Pepper, that he’d be fine. But he’d been lying, and they both knew it. You couldn’t promise not to die.

Everybody loses people. That’s what living is.

“You get like that again,” Tony says. “You talk to me before . . . before you do anything. You talk to me first, okay? Give me a chance to save you too.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything for a long time. He plays with his empty glass. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

(Fold and unfold, fold and unfold, fold and unfold.)

“Panic attacks can kill people you know,” Bruce suddenly says quietly. “It’s rare, but it happens. Had one driving once. That wasn’t good. It would probably be worse flying around in your armor, I’m guessing. Also, I hear you have this heart condition. This terrible privilege.”

“You -- ”

“You didn’t talk during the tunnel sequence of 2001 at all. That’s a long stretch of the movie, but you didn’t bitch about it, not once. It’s hard to talk and breathe evenly at the same time, though.”

Bruce looks up then, meets Tony’s eyes. Meets them and _holds_ them.

“You get distracted sometimes,” Bruce says. “Short of breath. Your hand goes to your arc reactor, like you’re trying to make sure it’s still working. I thought something was physically wrong, the first time I noticed. I heard about the palladium, and I thought maybe . . . but it’s fine, right? It’s just . . . it’s up here.” He taps his forehead. “That’s where it really hurts."

“Death isn’t your friend,” Bruce says. “You’ve come close a few times now, and you’re scared of it. You have triggers. Certain lights or colors? Did the tunnel remind you of being out there, in space? Sometimes, I wonder what you must have seen. It had to have been beautiful. Was it?”

Tony nods, once. Throat as tight as it is, it’s the best he can do.

Bruce nods too. “You’re ashamed,” he says. “You try to make sure no one notices. Talk too fast or don’t talk at all, give people something shiny to look at or usher them out the door, while you crawl under a table like a dog that doesn’t want anyone to see it’s hurting. That’s pretty dumb, but like I said, you’re dumb about the things that matter. We all have triggers, Tony. We’re all scared of something. You think Captain America isn’t scared? You think Thor isn’t? Of course they are. It’s not easy, remember? It’s not supposed to be easy, not for any of us. It’s never going to be."

Tony’s throat is dry and his glass is somehow empty again, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Bruce, not for a second. “Wind up to the point, Jolly Green,” he says hoarsely. “You telling me to suck it up?”

For just a moment, Bruce’s strained, white knuckles seem green.

“No,” he says, exasperated. “You _idiot_ , I’m telling you to talk to me. I’ll talk to you when I get low. You talk to me if you start to panic. Deal?”

Bruce actually puts out his hand, and oh.

_Oh_.

Maybe breathing isn’t quite so difficult as it was, a minute ago.

After a long moment -- partially to process, partially just to be a jackass -- Tony shakes Bruce’s hand “Louis,” he says, coming around the bar and putting his arm around Bruce. “I think this is the beginning to a beautiful friendship.”

Bruce drops his eyes, smiling. “You’re not allowed to pick the movie anymore, either,” he reminds Tony. “And maybe we shouldn’t pick anything with Nazis when Steve’s over?"

“It’s weird how many movies have Nazis, right?” Tony asks. “Why are there so many movies with Nazis? Oh, wait, hold on -- JARVIS?"

“Sir?"

Bruce clearly expects him to ask JARVIS about how many Nazi movies have ever been made, but Tony doesn’t really care about that. “That whole inspirational speech Bruce just gave . . . how many seconds did he manage to maintain eye contact with me?"

“9.4, sir.”

Tony pushes a bowl of olives towards Bruce. “That's a record," he says. "Good boy."

Bruce bursts out laughing. “Asshole,” he says.

*

All in all, Movie Night # 4 is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I thought this would be a 5+1 story, so that each Avenger would pick a movie, but . . . it kind of wrapped up sooner than that. Maybe I'll write a sequel so Natasha and Thor get to pick something next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Fingers crossed for first Avengers fanfic. Also, I didn't realize it at the time, but while editing, I realized that the choice for Night of The Living Dead was almost certainly influenced by Closer's awesome story, Come At Me, which if you haven't read . . . well, you should read. Obviously.


End file.
